You Can Be a Father
by BlackRoseDragonCK
Summary: One-shot, post MGS4. Snake had accomplished a lot in his lifetime. People had gone so far as to even call him a legend. Now, it was time for him to retire, but there was one piece of advice he needed to pass on to a certain fair-haired protege of his before doing so. He needed to pass on his drive and his confidence to one who truly needed it. No yaoi, Father's Day story.


**I DO NOT OWN METAL GEAR OR THE SCRIPT'S HALL OF FAME WRITTEN BY DANNY O'DONOGHUE, MARK SHEEHAN, AND JAMES BARRY, PERFORMED BY THE SCRIPT AND WILL. I. AM.**

**What's up :D? I know I'm a day late, but this is a story for Father's Day. It's my first Metal Gear story that has Snake in it and is set post-MGS4. It's also my first MGS songfic haha. Anyways, please enjoy :)!**

**XXX**

_Yeah, you could be the greatest. You could be the best._

_You could be the King Kong banging on your chest._

_You can beat the world. You can beat the war._

_You can talk to God. Go Banging on his door_

Legend…

It was a simple, two-syllable word that held so much meaning in its essence. It was a term spoken in reverence, detailing people who had accomplished incredible feats. They were heroes of righteousness or villains of great iniquity. In either case, their names were known by all and served as a source of fascination for most. Their stories passed through the generations, sometimes contorting into entirely different meanings. Nevertheless, they were _remembered_—they were famous of infamous. That was what it meant to be a legend.

But Solid Snake put very little stock in this concept. He himself was a legend—the hero of Shadow Moses, Zanzibarland, and Outer Heaven. Once, he had been a legend in the fact that he was framed as a terrorist. When that false accusation had been put to rest, he had become a superhero icon once again.

Either way, he paid little heed to the attention. "A legend is nothing but fiction," he had said many years ago. "Someone tells it, someone else remembers, everybody passes it on." The only thing that mattered to him, in all of his ventures, was that he had done the best he could to do what he thought was right. End of story.

Now, he was satisfied. He had made the best of his chance to make a difference. It was time to pass that drive on to someone else. There was someone else who needed such an incentive far more than he did. It was for that exact reason that he had decided to pay a certain friend one last visit before he indulged in a lengthy vacation.

_You can throw your hands up. You can beat the clock_

_You can move a mountain. You can break rocks._

_You can be a master. Don't wait for luck._

_Dedicate yourself and you can find yourself…_

_Standing in the hall of fame…and the world's gonna know your name._

'_Cause you burn with the brightest flame…and the world's gonna know your name_

_And you'll be on the walls in the hall of fame. _

**XXX**

Maryland's weather was pleasant today. The late afternoon sun shone down through wispy clouds, painting everything in garnet and gold light. A cool breeze danced through the wildlife. Flurries of leaves fluttered to the grassy ground. There were a few desolate playgrounds here and there, their empty swings swaying gently, as if pining for children to utilize them.

Truly, the day was perfect for enjoying outdoor activities. However, Snake knew that no one would bother. Everyone was, more than likely, scouring news channels or their computers, absorbing story after story detailing the newly-resolved Outer Heaven incident. Snake couldn't say that he blamed them. After all, he had been "privileged" enough to be a part of the mission. He knew details about it that the general public would never learn. One of those facts was that it had been his final mission before he decided to retire.

Despite the mass scramble for information, there was one person who Snake was relatively certain would not be glued to the internet. This was because he had also been a major part of the Outer Heaven mission, though his name had not been mentioned in any news articles. Colonel Roy Campbell had informed Snake of the location of the hospital housing this person. Snake had a strong feeling that, in spite of a recent major surgery, his companion would not be holed up in his white-walled hospital room.

For this reason, the soldier had come to this peaceful place—he had to find his friend.

Casting his eyes about the quaint town, Snake took in its details. Scents of barbeque and unpolluted oxygen rode on the breeze. The streets were quiet, stocked with small business and genial people. Most of the inhabitants were indoors, but the soldier could tell by an abundance of interaction among them that it was one of those towns where everyone knew everyone else. He knew he had to look out of place with his camouflage pants and combat boots. He didn't really care.

Proceeding down the sidewalk, Snake passed through the section of tranquility and the smell of grill cooking into an even quieter area. This one had fewer buildings in order to make room for recreational attractions. There was a track for racing go-carts and a warehouse-like structure that read "Skating Rink" in faded red letters. The thing that caught Snake's attention, however, was a row of batting cages.

Frowning, the man ran a hand over his scarred face. He started across the street, feeling the wind push back his silver hair. It was not the cages themselves that drew him forward, but the sound coming from one of them. Rather than the solid "thud" of a bat striking a ball, he heard a clean whistling sound. It was as if something sharper and thinner were flying through the air. The high-pitched strike was followed by a clean, slicing sound and a slight clattering.

Normally, Snake's hand would have been hovering over his belt, ready to seize his gun at a moment's notice. Now, however, he had a hunch regarding the sound's identity. It was a noise with which he was quite familiar…one he had listened to while fending off an army of marauding Gekko at Shadow Moses.

Stepping off the asphalt road into the batting attraction's cement lot, the soldier scrutinized each area. He saw a small both, probably used for buying tickets, with a messily-scrawled "Gone to Lunch" sign in its window. He grunted. It was just as well. He had no desire for eavesdroppers. Next to the booth, there lay the grouping of cages. They were sizeable enough, constructed of black wire. There was a reasonable number of them, however they were all empty. Well…all except one.

As Snake drew closer to the row, the odd din grew louder. With his close proximity, he could make out a metallic essence to the slicing sound. An involuntary smile crept onto his features. He knew he had located his companion. Proceeding down the row of unoccupied spaces, Snake found him in the very last cage.

The cage door was standing wide open, something that was probably a violation of the attraction rules. Since the workers were "out to lunch" and no one else was present, the mild infringement had gone unnoticed. Even if there had been people present, however, it would not have mattered. For the person training within was far too skilled to let any of the balls fly out of the cage.

Dressed in grey jeans, black shoes, and a long-sleeved navy blue turtle neck, a lone man faced the humming pitching machine. His back was turned to Snake, revealing a longish shock of ice-blonde, shaggy hair. Rather than a baseball bat, the man was holding a razor-sharp katana of glinting silver metal. The weapon seemed to spark with azure electricity, thought it could have just been a trick of the early evening light.

Halting at the open doorway, Snake leaned his forearm against its frame and watched the spectacle with an amused expression. Several dozen baseballs lay in pieces all over the cage floor. Every time the machine fired a ball, the man would swing that deadly blade, splitting it clean in two. His movements were fluid and experienced. There was a strength and agility behind them that was…not quite human.

Snake listened to the snick and whir of the swinging blade for several minutes. Its wielder was focused on the training at hand and failed to notice his visitor. Finally, Snake cleared his throat.

"I sure hope you paid for those baseballs."

Another ball was fired. Rather than attacking it, the warrior blocked its strike with his blade. He then dashed forward, turned off the machine, and whipped around. There was something clearly inhuman in his movements. His expression was hard and wary, his blade crackling threateningly. When he saw the identity of his visitor, however, he relaxed.

The man appeared to be in his late twenties. In spite of their insipid blue color, his eyes were noticeably shadowed, perhaps by lack of sleep. His skin was almost as pale as his hair. It was that white, nearly sickly skin that gave away what the warrior truly was.

Running from the corners of his mouth along his jaw and into his hair, were noticeable lines in his flesh. More probably marred his neck, though the turtle neck concealed them. Those lines divided his organic skin from the artificial skin covering his robotic features. Though he currently donned his civilian body, this man, Raiden, was clearly a cyborg. He was also Snake's more or less protégé.

A rare smile ghosted over Raiden's face as he approached. "The baseballs are mine," he replied, stepping out of the cage and closing the door behind him. "I just paid for the machine. The people here aren't too strict regarding the rules…"

"I can tell," Snake pointedly eyed the dangerously sharp blade.

Sliding the weapon back into its sheathe, Raiden fixed his guest with a scrutinizing stare. He leaned against the gate, saying, "So, what brings you to Maryland?"

"Just thought I'd give ya a few more words of wisdom before I enter an early retirement," the soldier replied half-sarcastically.

Raiden smirked lightly. Snake inclined his head in the direction of a less-developed area of the town. "Let's walk."

_You could go the distance. You could run the mile_

_You could walk straight through hell with a smile. _

_You could be the hero. You could get the gold._

_Breaking all the records that thought never could be broke._

Slinging his sheathe over his shoulder, the cyborg started after his old teacher. There was a small sidewalk upon which they walked into a nature-filled area. It probably led to a network of neighborhoods. Community parks and reserves were the only surrounding attractions.

As they walked, Snake cast a sideways glance at Raiden. He noted that the young man's expression was distant, as if his mind were a million miles away. He was tense as well. Something was clearly nagging at his brain.

To break the silence, Snake inquired, "So…how did the surgery go?"

Raiden jerked slightly, as if he'd forgotten he was not alone. "Oh…uh, it was fine," he replied, refocusing on his companion. "This civilian body still looks pretty unnatural but it beats having a metal jaw any day."

Snake nodded, not really knowing what to say since he didn't know a lot about cyborgs. Also, that was not the main reason why he had asked such a question. He was attempting to lead into a subject that could otherwise be a bit touchy.

"And…your recovery afterward?"

At this, Raiden's darkened expression returned. He bent his head slightly and Snake could not make out his expression. "It was…not what I expected…" he murmured.

Uncomfortable silence ensued for several moments. Snake suddenly wished that he had not resolved to quit smoking simply so that he would have something to distract himself from the awkwardness of the moment. Clearing his throat, he started to say something else. Raiden beat him to the point.

How long have you known?"

_Uh-oh…_ The soldier suddenly felt fidgety. Raiden had become such a "poker face" kind of guy that it was difficult to gauge his feelings on certain subjects. He decided to play dumb on the matter. "Known what?"

Finally, the cyborg looked at him. His face held such a look of "don't give me that bull" that Snake almost laughed aloud. How many times he had seen that expression on a younger FOXHOUND operative Raiden's face, he couldn't recall.

Arching an ashen brow, Raiden replied, "About Rose…about my…son."

He spoke the last word as if it were foreign to him. It was then that Snake knew what his charge had been thinking about. He ran a hand over his moustache, trying to think of a way to respond that would not cause any drama.

"Well…back in the Middle East, Meryl told me that Rose had a kid with her," he said. "I kinda put two and two together when Campbell called me in South America."

The blonde's eyes narrowed slightly. He nodded and turned to stare straight ahead once more.

Snake studied his friend's serious profile. "Is that what you're thinking about with such intensity?"

Raiden gave him a wry glance. "Am I that obvious?"

"You've never been good at hiding distress," Snake chuckled.

Raiden offered the briefest of smiles before letting it fall from his face. He furrowed his brows at the sidewalk, as if his eyes could burn a hole through it. "I was distraught when I thought I had lost my kid…my last shred of humanity," he muttered. "Now that shred's been given back to me and I find myself afraid of it." He smirked dryly. "The irony, huh?"

The soldier tilted his head thoughtfully. "You're afraid of having a family?"

Something rustled in the trees next to them. Raiden's head snapped upward, his hand flying to the hilt of his blade. Both men halted and searched the flora around them. Further inspection showed that the sound had merely been a squirrel.

The cyborg's stiff stance gradually relaxed. Looking rather awkward, he released his hilt and continued onward. Snake followed, arching his eyebrows and waiting for a comment.

Raiden ran a hand through his snow-colored hair. "It's just…Solidus wasn't exactly the best father to me," he said. "I mean, he made me what I am today. You saw my reflexes just then. He's…ingrained into me"

Snake nodded grimly. Solidus was the man who had killed Raiden's parents and stolen the fair-haired boy to be his godson. Though he had been long dead before the cybernetic transformation had ensued, it was his influence that had led Raiden down the road to becoming half-machine.

"I mean, what if my son ends up not liking me?" Raiden went on. "What if other kids bully him because he's got a cyborg for a dad? What if I'm just a terrible father?"

Quietly listening to his friend's nearly-frantic "what-ifs," the veteran could not help but smile a little. For this one moment, Raiden had lost his world-weary, war-torn, cyborg-ninja persona. He now sounded like the naïve, hotheaded youth who had saved the day at Big Shell long ago. In fact, the instance rather reminded Snake of Raiden's panic when he had learned that he would have to disable a massive load of C4. In essence, it was the same fear—the terror of uncertainty—that plagued him now.

_Do it for your people. Do it for your pride._

_Never gonna know if you never even try._

_Do it for your country. Do it for your name_

'_Cause there's gonna be a day when you're…_

_Standing in the hall of fame…and the world's gonna know your name._

'_Cause you burn with the brightest flame…and the world's gonna know your name_

_And you'll be on the walls in the hall of fame. _

Snake thought awhile about how to best respond to the other man's worries. Previously focused on the conversation, he was surprised to find that the canopy of trees surrounding them had vanished. To their right was a small neighborhood; to their left lay a community park with a large field. Upon the field were two white goals that lay many yards away and a few benches for spectators.

Squinting, Snake continued to scan the far-away field, eventually sighting some people. There was a group of girls, perhaps ten or eleven years old at the greatest. All of them were clad in green and white sports jerseys and a man wearing similar colors stood with them.

He looked quite professional with buzz-cut brown hair and skillfully athletic movements. He seemed to be gently coaching a blonde-haired girl as she stood in front of a soccer ball. He demonstrated to her movements that he had clearly long-since mastered. She stared at the black and white, pentagon-patterned sphere with a mixture of excitement and trepidation in her tense stance.

It was then that Snake knew exactly how to handle his current predicament.

Eyes locked on the young players, Snake stopped and grasped Raiden's shoulder. Frowning, the cyborg turned to look at him. Snake pointed.

"You see that kid standing in front of the soccer ball?"

Raiden's azure gaze sought for a moment before locating their target. Perplexed, his brows knitted and he nodded slowly. "Yeah…? What about her?"

The veteran was silent for a few heartbeats before answering. "Right about now, she's having the exact same thoughts you are," he explained. "She's wondering if her coach will approve of her skills or if the rest of her teammates will like her. Most of all, she's wondering if she'll even be any good at the sport."

Raiden said nothing. He kept his eyes locked on the coach and girl, his frown deepening. Snake turned to study his face.

"She's worried about all that stuff because it affects her future and perhaps the futures of those around her. Your situation is no different, kid. Everyone fears the unknown—it's _natural_."

Raiden's eyes flicked downward. He studied a crack in the sidewalk as if it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. "And…how does one combat this fear?" he softly queried.

"By putting your best into the effort."

_Be a champion…be a champion…be a champion…be a champion_

_On the walls of the hall of fame._

_Be students. Be teachers. Be politicians. Be preachers._

_Be believers. Be leaders. Be astronauts. Be champions. Be true seekers._

_Be students. Be teachers. Be politicians. Be preachers._

_Be believers. Be leaders. Be astronauts. Be champions. Be true seekers._

The fair-haired man shot him a bemused look. Snake shrugged, saying, "Look, we very well could've failed at Big Shell. You could've made a mistake on the bomb freezing and blown us sky high or I could have not reached you in time to help you fight the Harrier. We could be living in a world ruled by Liquid Ocelot by now. Obviously, the results of a struggle matter…but even more important is the fight itself. You might not be any good at something, but if you can lie down at night and say you gave it your best…well, you'll get a better night's sleep."

He shook his head, chuckling. "Heh, that girl might turn around tomorrow and decide that she wants to be baseball player or a dancer or something. But if soccer is something she wants to be good at—something she's passionate about and really wants to do…then all she has to do is work hard and try her best." He lifted his brows. "You want a family, don't you?"

Raiden nodded quietly. "More than anything…"

Snake clasped both of his shoulders, looking at him firmly. "Then be the best father you can be." He thumped the cyborg's mechanical chest. "Find that strength you used to keep Outer Heaven from crushing me back at Shadow Moses and utilize it." He glanced back at the girl. "There will be days when she doesn't feel like practicing or teams she doesn't want to face. And you...sometimes you'll find yourself too tired to feel like doing everything a husband and father has to do and you'll run across familial issues you don't want to deal with. But if it's something you really want, you, both of you, will push yourselves to go on. You'll put everything you've got into it."

Raiden stared unblinkingly at him. Snake squeezed his shoulders tighter. "It may seem an impossible dream now, but she can be a star player…and _you _can be a father."

For awhile, Raiden searched his face, as if seeking any signs of deceit. He would find none of course. Snake was nothing if not frank about matters such as this. Finally, a tiny but genuine smile cracked upon his pale face.

"Yeah…I guess you're right."

_You could be the greatest. You could be the best._

_You could be the King Kong banging on your chest._

_You can beat the world. You can beat the war._

_You can talk to God. Go Banging on his door_

_You can throw your hands up. You can beat the clock_

_You can move a mountain. You can break rocks._

With a curt, conclusive nod of understanding, the duo began walking back toward the town. As they went, Raiden reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out one of the baseballs he'd been slicing. Tossing it once in the air, he caught it deftly and smiled again.

"Maybe I'll take my kid to that batting place sometime…"

Grinning, Snake asked, "So, what does he think of you so far?"

Raiden's expression was calm, but his companion could see happiness lifting the shadows from his eyes. "He thinks I'm a superhero," he murmured. He then faced his companion, asking, "By the way, what did you originally come here to talk to me about?"

Chuckling, Snake clapped him on the back. "I came to tell you that it's your turn to cultivate your own legend. By the looks of things, there was no need to tell you—you're already on your way to the hall of fame."

_You can be a master. Don't wait for luck._

_Dedicate yourself and you can find yourself_

_Standing in the hall of fame._

**XXX**

**This is dedicated to my own father :). Anyways, thank you to anyone who read this and please, please review :D! Please no flames. **

**I DO NOT OWN METAL GEAR OR THE SCRIPT'S HALL OF FAME**


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